


Bad Boy

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Face Slapping, Panty Gag, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9657077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'How about a nsfw fix where the reader surprises Robert plant and totally dominates him in bed (such as being a degrader)'. This is probably the most boringly vanilla nonsense. Much apologies. The reader has Percy right where she wants him...





	

“Oh, darling, you’re beautiful.”

You giggle, looking up in your boyfriend’s hazel eyes, and he kisses you deeply.

“Absolutely exquisite,” he murmured, and brushes your hair away from your face. “You’d make me into a poet, love.” You bat him away a little, and he smiles, before kissing you again. “Come on, darling, let’s make the most of it, I feel like I never see you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” you murmur, and giggle as kisses are planted along your jawline, before your bare legs entwine. “How did you get me mostly undressed and into bed so quickly, by the way?”

“Natural magnetism,” Robert laughs softly, and you blush. “That, and… you’re probably gagging for it, a little.” You roll your eyes. “I might be a poet, love, but… you can take the boy out of the Black Country…”

“Daft man.” You straddle him, and his eyes widen even as he smirks. “I am. A lot. How…” You trace your fingers down his chest, leaving faint marks on his tanned skin. “…could I not be?”

“Mmm…” he purrs deep in his throat, and you smirk, before a wicked idea comes to your head. You are clad in nothing but a pair of magenta lacy panties, and you would like some time to appreciate your man’s body; as such, you have a plan to keep him… tied up. Literally. You slowly peel them off as you kneel over him, and then tilt your head.

“Hands onto the headboard. You better hold on,” you purr, and he nods, tongue between his teeth as he watches you. “Open your mouth.” He realises what you’re about to do, and his jaw falls open of its own accord – close enough. You place your panties between his teeth and lift his head, tying them behind – he moans through the fabric as he tastes how wet you are, and you wink. “Oh, love.” You rest back down against him, grinding on his naked what-is-rapidly-becoming-an-erection, and feel arousal tighten in your stomach as he thrusts up against you.

“Please,” he says, or at least you think he does through the gag – there’s something so aggressively feline and untameable about Robert. You like how you feel like you might be close to it – the closest anyone’s ever gotten. You lean down to kiss him softly, fingernails tracing down the jawline, and then you sit up – and slap him.

His hips jerk involuntarily, and you shake your head.

“Don’t.” Your tone is flat. “Behave-” You lean down, and kiss him gently again, nails scratching down his chest again. “-or I will make you.” Robert whimpers faintly, and you pull his hair. “Do you understand?” He nods – and you bite your lip. “One hand from the headboard. Touch me… whore.” He is a whore, you think as you watch him – he’s so ready and eager, so hard against you, and you moan as he rubs you, those bright eyes threaded with gold watching you as you arch. “Good… so good.”

You grind down against his touch, making sure to slide yourself along his erection as you do so – you have the pleasure of seeing him moan as you do so, and think about how desperate you really are. ‘Gagging for it’ doesn’t really cut it; your skin has ached for his touches for however long he’s been on tour – common sense puts it as a month, your brain is idling somewhere around the thousand-year mark. Every inch of you touching him is on fire.

“Rob,” you moan, and cup your breasts, arching and squeezing them. You secretly wish it was him doing this, but… you love to be in control a little more, and you want to keep this up a little longer. “Can you taste me on those? Slut?” He nods, that perfect chest heaving, and you smirk, before your mouth falls open as you writhe against his hand a little more. “Do you love to be used?”

“Y-” he begins, muffled, and you slap him again, pleased at the flush you’ve caused along those feline cheekbones.

“I don’t care, Robert.” You draw his full name out along your tongue as if he’s an errant schoolboy, and he flushes even more. “I’m _going_ to use you to get off. “You grind down along the length of his erection, and he arches up against you desperately. “Keep touching me.”

“Yes, madam,” he gasps through the makeshift gag, and you close your eyes, focusing on rubbing yourself against him. You feel his fingers slide further underneath you and then press into you, and you moan as he stretches you.

“ _Bad_ boy.” You slap his cheek again, and he moans your name softly – but he knows better than to stop, and you grind against the palm of his hand. “Bad b-boy, wanting this so much…” His hips are desperately grinding up against you, and truth be told, you’re desperate for him to be inside you, but giving him that satisfaction – you want him to ache for you like you do for him, and as he jerks his hips upwards again, you grab his chin, and force him to look into your eyes. “ _Stop_.”

He does, and the wonder and submission in his eyes makes your heart thud against your ribcage – you lean down to kiss him and end up groaning into his mouth as a wave of pleasure makes you shiver.

“Rob…”

He wisely does not reply, instead focusing on where and how he’s touching you; you dimly remind yourself to sit on that beautiful face later, but for now you’re too close to risk losing this. You arch back, chest heaving, and his deep moan – albums do not do Rob justice – through the cotton of your knickers makes you lean forward and grip a handful of those long, luscious, blond curls.

“Don’t stop, slut,” you gasp, and then your body stills as you hover on the edge for a moment – you feel as if you’re floating, and then your orgasm rocks you and you grind against him, wordless as heat floods your body and you fall, and it’s only when you hear a quiet ‘ow’ that you realised you’ve nearly taken a handful of his hair with you. You let go, and kiss his cheek gently, feeling your heart and his beat together in tandem as your breasts press against his chest.

“Wow,” he whispers, and you smile lazily. “…please? Now?” He’s breathless, that eloquent – mostly – poet you love almost gone and replaced by a hazel-eyed, tongue-tied schoolboy. You stroke your finger down the side of his face before untying the gag, and throw the panties across the room before kissing him again.

“Maybe.”

“…!”


End file.
